


Shots

by gaslight_skellington



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaslight_skellington/pseuds/gaslight_skellington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one shots based around the relationship of Constance and d'Artagnan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have recently been re-watching the Musketeers, and have re-read this story to see how it stands up. I'm not happy with some of the writing and have decided to take each chapter and re-write or edit it in the next few weeks. The basic premise of each chapter will be the same, but some of them will have significant re-writes. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think :)

Her aunt Claudette had always described the soul-mate spell as 'the most important spell a witch would ever perform', but when Constance was a young girl, learning her craft from her mother's Coven, the last thing she was interested in was finding a husband. She had been more interested in mastering the spell which turned her older brother into a bat when he irritated her, and she'd been thrilled and proud to have mastered it by the age of nine, three years into the twelve that she would spend at Académie des Sorcières . 

As a teenage witch, she'd been far more concerned with mastering her craft than boys; she practised everything from the most simple spells to the deeply complex ones which required weeks of preparation and a Coven to carry out – by the time she was thirteen she had already formed the tentative bonds of a Coven with some of the other witches at school, and the bond she held with them was far more important to her than the one she could hold with a soul mate. Her mother had always told her to carefully cultivate the bonds of friendship and sisterhood, as her Coven would be the people who stood with her through good times and bad; the advice had come after her father had left the family home for the fifth and final time when she'd been ten. He'd come home from a business dinner to find her mother in the kitchen with two other witches, cooking over an open cauldron in aid of fourth witch who was dealing with a preternatural stalker.

It had been the final straw for him; he'd long since believed that her mother was more interested in her coven than in him, and after a long, drawn out argument about her priorities and her inability to show up to important business functions on his arm, he'd stormed out of the house without a backwards glance. They had been soul mates who'd grown apart; it was rare but it did happen and the important thing to remember, her mother had explained to a confused Constance, was that once formed, a Coven would always be there for her. Her mother had been devastated by his decision, but she had hidden it well at the time, and it had taken Constance years to pick up on her subtle pain.

She and her brother had taken their mother's side, and hadn't spoken to their father in years. She was sure he wasn't worried; he had remarried a nice, normal woman named Sarah who went to all of his business parties, and who'd given him a nice, normal daughter name Beatrice. Constance had met them briefly during an awkward run in at the local market, where she'd been restocking her pre-spelled basil and sage from a witch's stall, and while Sarah had seemed nice enough, she had no real interest in getting to know them; and since she hadn't spoken to her father in years by that point, she'd smiled politely and left them to wander around.

Her Coven at school had consisted of three other girls – Anne, who had been one of Constance's room mates and her best friend since her first night at the Académie, her cousin Fleur, who was two years younger than them but a gifted witch who'd started the Académie a year early and Flea, whose mother had been part of Constance's mother's Coven. While their sisterhood had grown over their years to include new members, the four girls had remained at the core of it, choosing apartments and careers in close proximity to each other and renewing their pact every year on the Solstice. 

These women, along with her mother and brother, were her immediate family, and the witches who made up her mother's Cover were her extended family. She had no need, or desire, to upset the balance of these relationships with a soul mate.

* * *

She was twenty one when she finally gave in and cast the spell.

She had been angry and hurt when Bonacieux, her boyfriend of four years and the man she had believed she would marry, had drunkenly admitted to her that he wouldn't tolerate her practising her craft once they were married. He forbid her to pracise, he had slurred, and as his wife it would be her duty to obey him.

Although it was widely acknowledged that there were thousands of witches living across Europe, and they were mostly accepted by wider society in the bigger towns and cities, Bonacieux had told her that her magic would prevent potential business deals once he had taken his father's place as the head of their global textile business. They worked with people all over the world, he had slurred, and they couldn't risk any of their more old-fashioned clients finding out about her. The business relied on good relationships with these people, and it would be selfish of her to expect to continue living the way she had at the Académie, doing spells and running around with her Coven as if she had no other responsibilities.

His attitude, so like her father's, had left her enraged and she'd enjoyed the look of shocked terror on his face as she'd stood slowly and allowed her magic to twine through her fingertips. It was nothing more than a parlour trick, conjuring the smoke and making it flash with light, but he'd shrank back in his seat in horror as she'd demanded that he never contact her again. She had never felt fury like it, and it had taken hours and a cup of her mother's speciality lemon tea to calm her down enough to explain what had happened to her Coven.

She hadn't loved him; far from it, in fact, but she had tolerated him because he could be kind to her, and before his outburst he had never shown any disdain towards her magic. In fact, it was the fact that she didn't think she would ever love him that made him perfect; after all, her mother had loved her father and although she had tried to hide it, she'd been shattered when he left her. Marrying a man that she didn't love would mean she never had to experience that type of anguish. She'd fully expected to marry Bonacieux and be content with her life, if not happy, and her carefully planned future falling apart had shaken her, more than she wanted to admit.

So, she'd given in to her aunt's pleading and agreed to do the spell. 

Anne had recently met her own soul mate; a mischievous police officer named Aramis who made her deliriously happy and was fascinated with both Anne and her magical abilities. Constance had met him a few times, and she had to admit that she liked him. Anne had added her voice to Aunt Claudette's, wanting her friend to be as happy as she currently was and although Constance was still unsure about the idea of a soul mate, a desire for peace and quiet and morbid curiosity convinced her. 

She wanted to know what type of man had been created for her – would he be like Bonacieux, accepting at first but hiding his real disdain behind little smiles and compliments, or would he be like Aramis and accept her, warts and all? (A witch joke that she enjoyed making as she loved watching people as they tried to figure out if her clear, unblemished skin was hiding warts; if her girl next door looks was actually just a spell, and she actually looked like a stereotypical witch. The joke made people uncomfortable, and she had discovered, at a young age, that she liked to make people uncomfortable.)

So she had gone to her mother's house, pulled out her grandmother's cauldron and all the ingredients that she would need and allowed her mother and her coven to take their places around the sturdy oak table that had been passed through the women in their family for generations; it still had the scorch marks from her attempts at spells when she was younger and it made her smile wistfully. Her mother stood at her left elbow and Anne, as her best friend, stood at the right – they were silent during the spell but she could feel their power course through her and their hands were still and strong on her shoulders.

Fleur stood facing her, chanting softly before the spell began to clear the room of any lingering spells, while Flea and the newest members of their Coven, Milady and Samira, took their places on either side of the table, arms held aloft as they prepared to thrown in the ingredients they held.

It was a complicated spell which took several hours of chanting and tossing ingredients in at an exact time but she persisted, dropping in her sprigs of rosemary and lavender, a lock of her own hair and a hand full of dirt from her great, great grandmother's grave, while her friends dropped their own ingredients – the well preserved eye of newt from Milady and a family heirloom from Samira – her great, great, great, great grandmother's cameo pendant.

When it was over, and they had all dropped into chairs around the table with glasses of wine and the scent of dinner drafting in from the kitchen, she'd looked down at the small, black fleur-de-lis tattoo on her wrist and couldn't decided if she was happy or not. At least he was French, she sighed to herself.

 

* * *

 

She was now 24 and she had yet to meet him; most witches met their soul mates within weeks of casting the spell and when she hadn't, she accepted it as further proof that her relationship would end up like her parents' – a strange anomaly which would lead to heartbreak, rather than a happy ending.

She still had the tattoo, of course, but she laughed it off as a drunken mistake to people who didn't know and had long since given up on meeting him.

Anne had met Aramis three days after casting her own spell, and Fleur had meet Ninon, a rich, philanthropic feminist, within a week. Flea had known her soul-mate as a child growing up in the poorest part of Paris, and had been thrilled to run into him the day after casting her spell. His name was Porthos, and he was a large, grumpy looking ex-soldier whose gruff exterior disappeared the second he smiled. All of them fit in well with their small group, and Porthos and Aramis had become great friends, much to the delight of the rest of the Coven. 

Samira had not cast her own spell yet; she was much more interested in studying the theory of magic than actually carrying out, and Constance knew she wanted to travel to meet her father's family before trying the spell.

Milady, it turned out, had already married and divorced her own soul mate; a quiet, serious man named Athos. Milady was older than the rest of them, by a few years, but had never settled into a Coven before meeting Constance and Anne at a gallery opening in Paris one night. They'd connected immediately, standing in front of an Artemisia Gentileschi painting, and they had extended an invitation for her to join them at their next meeting before the end of the night. She'd officially joined the Coven a month later.

She wasn't like the rest of them; she'd grown up an orphan and was independent and self sufficient to the point where she appeared cold and uncaring. She had confided in Constance about the brother in law who'd destroyed her marriage, to the only man she'd ever loved, and the downward spiral she had been on ever since. She was slowly becoming more open to the Coven, and had quietly asked Constance to stand with her as she carried out her own soul mate spell a month after Constance. She'd run into Athos for the first time since their divorce a week later, and saw the small dagger tattoo behind his ear that marked him as hers. They had taken it slowly, however, and were only now being re-married.

Which was why she was walking towards the ruins of a burnt down convent on the outskirts of Paris; it was the most powerfully magic spot in all of France and the best place for a witch to get married, and it was the location for Milady and Athos' second wedding; Milady had joked to Constance earlier that this was why the first marriage had failed; it had taken place on the grounds of the estate owned by Athos' wealthy family and hadn't been included any magical elements as Milady had been hiding what she was. This time, she was sure it would work out and for her friend's sake, Constance hoped so.

They had chosen a cold, cloudless night for the wedding and Constance found herself pulling her cloak tighter around her body as she walked towards the small group of people seated at the right side of the alter, smiling at other witches and their families as she passed; it was traditional for local witches to come to weddings at the convent, even if they did not know the people getting married particularly well. Constance could see some of the girls who had gone to school with her and their mothers, and there were only a dozen or so people she didn't recognise. There were a small group of men huddled on the opposite side of the alter, and she assumed they were Athos' guests. She had to give them credit, they looked relaxed and intrigued as they looked around, rather than fearful and suspicious. She nodded at an older man as she passed them, smiling as he returned the gesture.

“Constance, you're late.” Fleur exclaimed as she finally reached her friends.

Constance smiled and accepted a hug from her younger cousin, apologising at the same time. “I got caught up marking exams; remind me why I thought I should be a teacher again?” She joked as she dropped down into a seat, accepting a steaming flask from Aramis with a smile of thanks.

“You love it,” Anne reminded her with a smirk. “Have you taught this years' recruits the bat spell yet?”

“Bat spell?” Aramis asked curiously as Anne and Fleur chuckled, looking between the three women. He was seated next to Anne, and his hand was resting on her thigh in a small act of intimacy that made Constance's heart hurt slightly before she forced the feeling away. Tonight was about Milady and Athos, not her own love life – or lack of.

“One of the first spells Constance teaches the little ones is how to turn boys into bats when they irritate them.” Flea explained as she dragged Porthos up to join them. Constance watched Porthos and Aramis greet each other happily, and the joyful look Anne and Flea shared at the sight before answering,

“Not this year, I'm afraid. Maria de Medici turned her little brother Louis into a bat and then changed him back when he was flying. If his mother hadn't come in to catch him, it would have been a disaster. I've taught them how to turn them into rabbits instead. At least that way there's little chance of anyone falling from a great height.”

She relaxed into her seat as her friends laughed, taking another sip of her hot coffee and surveying the group.

"I don't know." Anne shook her head ruefully. "I don't think it would be beyond Maria de Medici to levitate the rabbit and let him fall that way. She hates that little boy."

Constance nodded in agreement, a small frown on her face.

“Constance.”

She glanced up to see Athos standing behind her, looking handsome but grim in his wedding suit. He nodded in greeting to them all before cocking his head towards the small door at the right of the altar.

“Anne has asked me to come and get you.”

Athos was the only person she knew who didn't call Milady by her chosen name; she had explained it by saying that he knew her as Anne, when they were married and she didn't mind it.

Constance nodded, swapping a confused look with Anne and Flea, before standing and following Athos.

Inside the ruined sacristy stood Milady, looking stunning a dark purple cloak that fell to the floor, and two men who had to be Athos' witnesses.

“Constance. Samira has been caught up at work and isn't sure she will be here in time to stand with me. Would you be willing to be my witness?”

“Of course.” She grinned widely.

“Thank you.” They shared a quick embrace, before Milady turned them to face Athos and the two strangers. “Constance, this is Captain Treville, Athos' commander in the Musketeers, and d'Artagnan, his protégée. Gentlemen, this is one of my oldest friends, Constance.”

“Bonjour.” She greeted them both with a smile and a handshake. Treville had a firm handshake and a friendly smile, that she appreciated and returned, since not everyone would be so friendly when meeting a witch for the first time.

She turned to the second man, catching a glimpse at dark eyes as she held her hand out towards him. She saw the small plume of dark red smoke that wound around their entwined hands and bit back a gasp. On the inside of his wrist, in the same spot as her own, was a small, dark fleur-de-lis tattoo.

“Mademoiselle,” He murmured, looking at her with wide, shocked eyes. “I... you are... I don't...”

It was his stuttering that broke her concentration and she took a step back, dropping his hand as if it burned. She wanted to take comfort in the fact that his own hand lingered slightly, as if still holding hers, but his face looked miserable as he tried to form words and she acknowledged that while he might be willing to accept witches in general, he had no desire to be tied down to one.

“Do not trouble yourself with words, Monsieur d'Artagnan. We are here for our friends to be married, nothing else.”

Her voice was cool and detached, and she flinched at the hurt look in his eyes but she couldn't help herself as she took a few more steps away from him.

“Constance.” Milady spoke sharply and she turned angry eyes towards her friend. There was no way the older woman hadn't seen his mark, no way she hadn't planned this and while she knew that Milady had only been looking out for her, Constance was angry at being manipulated.

“You should not have meddled. You should never have put the poor man in this position.” She snapped. “I'll send Anne in. I find I'm no longer in the mood to bless a wedding.”

She stormed outside, her stomach churning and her palms sweating as she thought of him, of the look of horrified shock on his face as he looked down at their hands. He didn't want this – didn't want her. She reached her friends and pulled Anne out of her seat silently.

Aramis rose as well, but a gesture from Anne had him seated again, though the worried look on his face remained. 

“You will need to stand as witness; I cannot do it.”

“Constance, what's wrong?” Anne asked sharply, wrapping a strong hand around her friend's wrist.

“Constance, please. Wait.”

She turned to see d'Artagnan jogging towards them and couldn't stop herself from drinking in the sight of him.

She'd spent a long time imagining what her soul mate would be like but she'd never pictured him to be as beautiful as the man who stopped in front of her. His dark hair flopped over his forehead and he pushed it back in annoyance as he reached for her, making it sit up messily behind his ear.

His eyes were dark and expressive; so open that she could read every emotion that flashed through them – the shock and awe, excitement and appreciation as he took her in. There was no fear in them, but she told herself not to read into that – she'd seen his reaction in the sacristy and she couldn't afford to forget it.

Constance was not as strong as her mother; she didn't think that she could handle her soul mate leaving her after years of marriage, moving on to another woman and another family. She was sure that it would break her.

“Constance, are you alright?” Anne asked her softly, her presence strong and sure by her side and suddenly Constance was dragged back to the day she'd cast the spell.

She'd been reluctant to do it; unsure and confused about how she felt and what she wanted – what if she had passed that confusion and reluctance into the spell. What if this was the result? A soul mate who was confused about his feelings and reluctant to become involved with a witch. What if this was all her fault?

“Constance.” Anne spoke sharply now, her fingers tightening on her arm.

“Mademoiselle Constance, please...” It was d'Artagnan's soft voice that pulled her from her thoughts and she sent a small nod to Anne, and to where the rest of her Coven had stood, ready to back her up within seconds if she needed it. She watched them take their seats again, Fleur and Flea's blonde heads bent together as they whispered.

“I'm fine Anne. You should go inside and bless the ceremony.”

Anne nodded once, glancing at d'Artagnan before going back to her seat and gathering up her shawl and bag, and no doubt explaining to Aramis what had happened.

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, before d'Artagnan reached out and lifted her wrist. He stared at the small fleur-de-lis marking, before running a calloused thumb across the pale flesh and sending a shiver down her spine.

“Milady was the first witch I had ever met.” He spoke softly. “When the mark first appeared on my wrist, I thought I was going mad. No one could explain it and my mother insisted that I come to Paris, to speak to a witch who might know something. I am from Lupac, in Gascony. We're a small farming village, and we have no witches.”

Constance doubted that, but kept quiet. Witches living in small towns tended to keep their magic to themselves, out of fear and distrust. It had to be a horrible way to live, and Constance was grateful, yet again, that she had been born and raised in a city built for and by witches.

“I met Athos quickly, and he took me in. He has been training me ever since and I got distracted by it. I wanted to be captain of the Musketeers one day, so I put off finding out about the mark, in case it interfered with my plans. But then I was with Athos when the dagger appeared, and I was with him when he ran into Milady the following week. I saw their fight and it wasn't pretty.”

She smirked slightly, remembering the way Milady had stormed into her apartment, crying out for wine and calling her ex-husband a lot of filthy names and demanding to know how dare he bear her mark when she hated him and he hated her. It had been the most animated Constance had ever seen the older woman.

“She explained it to him then, what the mark meant and why it had appeared, and since he knew about my own, he told me. I was angry, at first. I thought a witch had cast a spell on me and -”

“I cast a spell on myself, actually.” Constance interrupted and he grinned; a quick flash of white teeth that left her breathless.

“Yes, Milady explained that. She told us everything and she was so much more friendly towards me than some of the other Musketeers – I should have known she knew the woman.”

“She can be cold sometimes,” Constance agreed. “But once she has accepted you into her life, there is no one more fierce or loyal.”

“She and Athos are a good match, then.” d'Artagnan smiled.

They fell silent again; he still stroked the fleur-de-lis on her wrist and she stared down at the sight, mesmerised.

“You do have a choice, d'Artagnan. Just because we have the same mark, doesn't mean that anything has to happen between us. I will not trap you in a relationship that makes you uncomfortable, and I will not give up my craft to appease you.”

His smile was softer now, his eyes wide and amused.

“Constance? Shut up and kiss me.”

 


	2. Headwound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually written during season 1 of the Musketeers and posted on ff.net. It doesn't connect to any of the other chapters I'll be posting.

"Constance... Constance!"

Her head ached and something warm was running down the back of her neck. She winced as she allowed the strong grip on her arm to pull her into an upright position, whimpering slightly as wave of pain hit her. She was lying on the hard ground, outside in the alley between her house and her neighbours.

She felt tired and weak and she wanted nothing more than to lean into the source of heat beside her and close her eyes again.

"No, don't sleep. Aramis said we must not let her fall asleep with a wound like that." A familiar voice spoke from above her.

With tremendous effort, she raised her head to look at the two men above her, gritting her teeth as her eyes met the bright sunlight.

"What happened?" She croaked out, allowing D'artagnan to help her stand. She swayed on her feet, reaching an arm out to his shoulder to steady herself. He wrapped a hand around hers, squeezing gently.

"It appears that my wife and your husband have conspired to murder you. For my wife's part in this plot, I must sincerely apologise, though I had no part in it and no warning of it as we are estranged."

Constance had spent a lot of time with D'artagnan's three friends since the Gascon took up residence in her house but apparently there was still a lot she didn't know about them.

"I'm sorry... you have a wife?"

She heard D'artagnan sigh beside her and turned her attention to him. He was scowling as he looked down at her but his eyes were soft as he placed a strong hand on her hip to keep her steady.

"Your husband has just tried to murder you and you are concerned about Athos being married?" He asked in exasperation.

Her head gave another painful throb as Constance frowned up at him, reaching a hand to the painful spot on the back of her head. When she pulled her hand back, her fingers were damp and red. At the sight of her blood her vision went hazy, and she leant against D'artagnan to stay on her feet.

"Oh." She murmured, still staring at her hand in wonder. "I think I might faint."

"Don't you dare." D'artagnan demanded. "We have to get you to the Musketeer garrison. Aramis will be back soon to deal with your wound."

"I'm afraid I can't move." She argued. "Without fainting."

"Constance, I have ridden, in this heat, for over an hour to make sure that I reached you in time. I am tired and sore, my horse is likely dead and we almost let Milady escape in order to save you. If you faint, you may not wake up and I will never forgive you for it."

She stared up at D'artagnan in surprise. He returned her gaze with dark, serious eyes before reaching a hand to rest a hand against her neck.

"I don't think you realise how much you mean to me, Madame Bonacieux." He told her softly. "And I will not allow you to die before I tell you."

She had always known he cared for her; it had been especially obvious ever since he taught her to shoot all those months ago. Even her husband had commented on how fond their lodger seemed to be of her, a bite in his voice that should have warned her to stay away from the younger man.

She had ignored the insinuation because she had no intention of being unfaithful, no matter how much she might want to.

To hear D'artagnan admit it now, and to see the intense look in his dark eyes, made her stomach clench in a way her husband had never been able to. This was how love should feel, she was sure of it, and it made her want to smile at him and reassure him that she had no intentions of dying until he admitted that he loved her, despite the blood she could still feel dripping on to her shoulder.

"I think you can stop calling me Madame Bonacieux." She spoke quietly. "My husband just tried to kill me, I'm not sure I'll be keeping the name."

Athos snorted from beside them and she started, turning her attention to him.

"May I ask why your wife was involved?"

"She believes I wronged her greatly and seeks vengeance." He replied, offering her an arm. She wrapped one hand around D'artagnan's arm before placing her other through Athos' and they started down the street slowly, both men adjusting their stride to match her slower one. "I believe she is trying to get to me through my friends."

"She is the woman who came to see you." D'artagnan admitted. "Milady, the one who frightened you."

"I suppose I was right to fear her then." Constance sighed. Her head still felt heavy and she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

"The more pressing question is why was your husband involved?" Athos asked. "I did not know you two had problems."

"We do not, for the most part. I believe he has gotten himself caught up in something he is too stupid to escape from; I have heard him talk of helping the Cardinal, but really how much help could a cloth merchant be to the man who rules France? And I do not know why this led to an attempt on my life."

"Let us be thankful it was only an attempt." D'artagnan muttered angrily. "It may save his life if we meet again."

"You are very calm about this." Athos commented. "Most women would be hysterical by now."

"I am not most women, as you should know by now." Constance smiled slightly. "And I am trying too hard not to faint to be worried about anything else."

"We are almost there and Aramis can look at the wound." Athos assured her. "It was exceptionally stupid of them to hit you with something and not check if you were dead."

"I walked in on them arguing." She remembered. "They were fighting over you, D'artagnan. I tried to listen but my husband spotted me. That's all I remember before waking up."

"But if they hit you inside, how did you make it outside?" Athos asked. "Did they carry you?"

"I... I'm not sure. I am sorry, I do not remember." She murmured. "My head hurts."

D'artagnan wrapped an arm more securely around her waist, allowing her to rest her weight against him as they approached the Musketeer's yard.

"Madame Bonacieux, it is good to see you." Porthos greeted her, exchanging looks with Athos and D'artagnan.

Normally the secrecy would have annoyed her but she found herself too tired to care much about anything other than closing her eyes and blocking out the pain.

"He's here." Porthos told them quietly. "Came storming in, shouting that his lodger had murdered his wife and left her body in an alleyway."

"You're looking remarkably beautiful for a dead woman." Aramis remarked as he joined them. "Madame Bonacieux, come this way. The Captain is allowing us to use his room to look at your wound."

"And then if you would say a word or two in my defense." D'artagnan laughed.

"I don't understand what's going on." She muttered. "What has any of this got to do with me? Why am I the one with a bleeding head wound?"

"Maybe we should discuss this after I tend to your wound." Aramis suggested. "The rest of you should go and speak to the Captain."

"I'm staying with her." D'artagnan tightened his grip slightly and Constance felt tears well up.

Everything was too much for her. The pain in her head, the confusion, the anger and D'artagnan's sudden willingness to admit that there was something between them were making her head throb angrily in a way she was certain had nothing to do with the wound.

"Constance? Are you okay?"

She looked up at his dark eyes and felt the world spin. Then it went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't own any of the characters you might recognise.


	3. A Royal Visit

As much as she enjoyed doing it, it wasn't often that Constance had the time to sit down and relax with a book. Her husband had been travelling for just under a month and wasn't expected back for at least another week; she'd finished the house hold chores last night and after crying herself to sleep, had decided to treat herself to a lazy morning with a book.

She was tucked up on the most comfortable chair they owned, a glass of wine beside her on the table and the book she was reading was filled with everything she had ever wanted in life. It had mystery and romance, dashing heroes and clever heroines, danger and intrigue. It made her forget about the last few horrible weeks and she welcomed the distraction, at least for a few hours.

The book was so riveting that when Aramis spoke from behind her she gave a tiny shriek and dropped it, before turning to face him with a red face.

"Madame, I am in great need of your assistance."

Her breathing was heavy as she glared at him, and she placed a cool hand over her racing heart as she tried to catch her breath.

She should have been paying more attention, she knew; especially since the break in. It would not do to be caught unaware again, especially since she had no guarantee of protection this time.

"Polite people knock to announce their presence." She told him finally.

"Ah, I could not linger on the doorstep, I am afraid. As I said, we are in need of your assistance."

"We?" She raised an eyebrow, spotting the younger man who stood in the doorway, trying to look casual and failing as he stared at her with wide, dark eyes.

"Constance..." d'Artagnan started softly, taking a step towards her. She raised a hand to cut him off.

"Madame Bonacieux."

She felt a vicious thrill at the grimace that passed over his face before he turned away from her, but it was brief and when it passed she was left feeling as hollow as before.

"Madame Bonacieux, I need your help."

It was rare for Aramis to look or sound so serious; he was a man who was always smiling and joking, but there was no mirth on his face now. He stared at her, dark eyes pleading as they jumped from her to the hallway behind him.

"Yes, it seems you're always in need of my help. You're here so often that my neighbours think that I am running a secret brothel for Musketeers in my husband's absence."

She was distracted from her irritation by a movement in the doorway and she felt her face pale as a familiar woman stepped inside.

She had on a simple silk cloak, dark coloured and decorated with only a small brooch at the neck. Her hair was pulled back simply and she wore no jewellery or crown but Constance knew immediately who she was and sank into a curtsey.

"Madame Bonacieux, Queen Anne. Your majesty, Constance Bonacieux.”

Athos had entered before the Queen; his face as serious as always, but Porthos stood behind her with barely contained amusement. Constance couldn't stop herself from glaring at him, even as she remained in a curtsey.

"I am most grateful for your hospitality, Madame. Captain Treville assured me you were aware of the situation though I see now he was mistaken. I hope I am not too much of a burden." She spoke graciously and softly, motioning for Constance to return to her feet.

"Not at all, your majesty. I'm sure it's a simple misunderstanding. It's common when dealing with these Musketeers. They're not terribly bright sometimes."

She was relieved when the Queen laughed, her eyes lightening up as she stepped further into the room and looked around the small space.

“You have a lovely home, Madame.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” She replied automatically, fighting the urge to look around the room and remove anything embarrassing or messy.

Any minute now her senses would return and she would remember to be mortified and angry at the four men for putting her into this position, but for now she was in a daze at the sight of the Queen of France standing in her parlour.

"You majesty, allow me to show you where to hang up your cloak." Aramis came to her rescue, again, and held an arm out for the Queen. Constance watched with the surreal scene as he led the most powerful woman in France into her hallway and towards her kitchen, his soft voice fading as they walked.

"What the hell is going on?" She hissed at the three men remaining, ignoring the raised eyebrows when she swore. She stared at Athos, well aware that he would be the one to give her a quick, straight answer.

"Someone has broken into her chambers at the palace. We do not know if it was an assassin, a spy or someone simply playing an elaborate hoax. We need to search the rooms discretely, but thoroughly and to do so we need the queen somewhere safe and away from the castle." Athos informed her quietly. "She came directly to Aramis for help, Madame. We could not turn her away."

"Of course not." Constance rolled her eyes. "She's the Queen of France. But what on earth is she doing here? How will she be safe in downtown Paris?"

"I will stay with you." Porthos assured her. "But she suspects the Cardinal may have had something to do with the break in so we need to keep her in the last place he would look."

"You really are idiots." She sighed. "Anyone who knows the four of you will know that you come running here at the first sight of trouble, this will be the first place they look if they suspect your involvement."

"We will be no more than a few hours. As far as the king and the Cardinal are aware, Captain Treville has taken the queen on a small tour of some of the poorer areas, along with a full company of musketeers. One of her lady's maids has gone in her place."

She stared at them in silence, before throwing her hands up inexasperated defeat and turning away from them. She picked her book up from where it had fallen on the floor and hid it among her skirts as she brushed past them.

"This is the last favour I do for you. You cannot come here whenever there is trouble and expect me to help." She told them softly, not turning to look for them. "You have rooms at the garrison, you have food and wine and someone to patch you up when you get hurt. Once you have picked up the Queen, please do not return to my house."

She didn't expect a reply and did not wait on one, but she heard a quiet scuffle behind her and could practically see Athos and Porthos holding d'Artagnan back. Two weeks ago, the sight would have made her smile, but now it made her feel ill as she thought, again, of how foolish she had been.

She found Aramis and the Queen in an intense, soft conversation and coughed softly to announce her presence. The Queen flushed lightly as she realised they had been spotted and Aramis took a few steps back. He lifted the Queen's hand to his lips and Constance could not help but feel for him.

If anyone in the world deserved happiness, it was Aramis. He was sweet and charming, a terrible flirt but loyal and willing to die for any of his friends. Including her, she had found out.

He was also, if she was correct, in love with the Queen of France and that could not be good for anyone involved.

"I will return shortly, your majesty. Constance, you have my eternal gratitude." He bowed to them both before leaving and Constance felt herself tense with the knowledge that she was expected to entertain the Queen for the next few hours.

"Can I get you anything, your majesty? I have lunch ready, and some wine. Or tea. I have a few books you could read to pass the time if you wish."

"Thank you. I would take a glass of wine and some conversation. It is rare I get to speak to anyone outside the palace and I do so enjoy hearing stories of the city. Monsieur Aramis tells me about it, sometimes. You spoke about a brothel earlier. Is that something that happens often?"

Constance felt her face heat up and busied herself with fixing wine for herself and the Queen. After a few minutes internal arguing, she fixed a glass of wine and a place of meat, cheese and fruit and excused herself to deliver it to Porthos.

He was leaning against the wall by her front door, his pistol dangling lazily from his fingers as he turned towards her at her approach. He accepted the plate silently, nodding his thanks and she turned to leave again.

"It's none of my business." He commented softly, causing her to pause and look at him over her shoulder. He met her gaze evenly. "But I have never seen him so upset. He has drunk as much as Athos, making silly mistakes during training. He speaks your name in his sleep. He has thought of dozens of excuses for returning here, to see you, but has talked himself out of every one. He believes you hate him but you don't, do you?"

She didn't answer, returning to the kitchen with shaking hands and wet eyes.

The Queen was sitting at her small table, looking around her with a wistful gaze. She looked up as she sat down facing her, and Constance reminded herself that she could not afford to be distracted.

They drank silently for a while, listening to the voices outside as they sipped their wine. Constance refilled her own glass before offering more to the Queen and silently warning herself to stop after this one; she did not need to make a fool of herself in front of the Queen of France. She thought desperately of a conversation she could start, but what on earth would she possibly have in common with the Queen of France? What could they possibly speak about?

"So, tell me of these Musketeers. Aramis is very fond of them and I believe that I have heard your name mentioned in relation to them many times."

"Your majesty -" Constance began.

"Please, you must call me Anne while I am here. You are doing me a great favour, Madame Bonaciuex, and no such formality is required between us."

"Then you must call me Constance.” She heard herself reply before thinking. She returned the wide smile that the Queen gave her and took another sip of wine.

“I'm not sure what I can tell you about them. D'Artagnan used to lodge here, before moving to the Garrison. I have known Athos for years, as he has patrolled the area and has always had a kind word for me. Porthos and Aramis I know through him."

"Aramis told me that he received a wound in the arm because he pulled you from harm recently, is that true?"

"It is. A woman had broken in and attempted to abduct me and I was lucky that Aramis called when he did. He is one of the bravest men I have ever met and he would have done that for anyone."

"Perhaps not anyone, but friends certainly." The Queen commented. "But I agree on his bravery. He rescued me during the prison break out a few months ago."

"Yes, I had heard you were there. You were unhurt, I hope?"

"Completely, thanks to him."

Her eyes were soft as she looked at Constance, a small and bitter smile on her face.

"I don't suppose he speaks of me."

She sounded young and unsure of herself and for a second Constance saw behind the mask of Queen to the girl behind it, a young and inexperienced girl taken from her home and her family and forced into a loveless marriage for the sake of alliances. She saw the unhappiness and the loneliness and for a split second, before the Queen recovered herself, Constance saw herself.

"I'm afraid he doesn't." She said quietly. "But he gained a new piece of jewellery at Easter." She saw the Queen look up and smile. "And it has not left his neck since then."

Understanding passed between them again and Constance felt herself relax back into her chair after another sip of wine. This time the silence was comfortable and easy, and they listened to the sound of women's laughter in the street below.

"So, you are in love with your lodger?" The Queen asked softly after a few minutes of silence. Constance looked at her in shock, shaking her head in denial.

"Of course not. I'm a married woman, your majesty. I am... fond of him, as a friend of course, but I love my husband."

It sounded like a lie, even as she said it and she could only shrug in defeat at the Queen's disbelieving look.

"As I love mine." The Queen replied quietly.

Constance looked at her and remembered the scene she had interrupted between the Queen and Aramis and smiled softly.

"I believe it is expected of us, as women, to love the men we are married to." She spoke quietly but she could hear the bitterness in her tone. “Whether we are given a choice in the marriage, or not.”

"Indeed. We love them and bear their children, and we are happy to do so because it is what is expected of us. You have no children, Constance?"

She shook her head with a small, sad smile. She had wanted children, she remembered, at the beginning of her marriage. A few years into it, and experience had taught her not to hope for much. It was a rare occasion that her husband was at home and wanted to visit her bedchamber, and she had long since resigned herself to the fact that she would likely be childless for the rest of her life. Then she had met d'Artagnan, and everything she had believed in was shattered.

"No, my husband is not...well, he doesn't enjoy... I mean..."

Anne chuckled softly and she blushed. This was not a conversation she wanted to be having with anyone, let alone the Queen of France. Of course, Constance had heard rumours of Spanish women being brazen and un-ladylike; she had never given it much thought but perhaps the Queen had grown up in a home that was less shy about talking of such things.

"I understand what you are saying. A few of my ladies maids have husbands who do not enjoy or engage in... bedroom play with them. It seems to upset them as much as it upsets you."

"If things were different..." Constance spoke softly. "Women would have the right to choose who they marry. They could marry for love, not family connections and money."

"Perhaps, for you." Anne replied. "But I fear that would never be the case for me. Royalty marries royalty; it is simply a matter of which heir is passed to which family."

Constance nodded her understanding, looking down at her hands before she took a swallow of wine. They were keeping their voices quiet, but she was suddenly aware of Porthos in the hallway. She did not want him to hear what they were talking about.

She stood quickly and moved to the door. He caught her eye and smiled at her; a rare, soft smile that she rarely saw on his face. Porthos laughed loudly and easily, and his grins were wide and full but there was rarely softness in them. It almost made her feel guilty for closing the door on him.

"You are right." Anne commented. "Privacy is good. I apologise, I am not much of a wine drinker. I find it goes to my head rather quickly and I am not overly fond of the taste."

Constance chuckled as she took her seat again. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you. I hate to think of the anarchy if the masses discovered that the Queen of France was not a wine drinker."

Constance laughed loudly before clapping her hand over her mouth. Anne looked delighted by her reaction and reached over to grasp a hand in hers.

"Constance, I cannot thank you enough for this. I know that my rooms are being searched right now and that I should be afraid or worried but I find that I am actually thankful for a break. I am happy to be out of the palace, out of the heavy gowns and jewellery. I am glad to be away from the ladies maids who report my every word to the Cardinal; to be able to have a conversation with an ordinary person, to discover that we have things in common."

Constance smiled again, squeezing the Queen's hand lightly.

"And now since we are trading secrets, I hope I can trust you with the one I am about to reveal. Aramis assured me that you know a great deal of secrets and have never been convinced to reveal them yet."

"Of course you can trust me." Constance assured her.

"I have never spoken this aloud; I am afraid to do so even now but I feel I must before it bursts out of me at an inopportune moment."

They were silent for a few minutes, Anne looking out the window with a sad look on her face. Constance watched her carefully, wondering how her quiet day of reading had turned into this.

"I am in love with a man who is not my husband."

It was spoken so softly that Constance wasn't sure she'd even heard it but the striken look on the Queen's face told her she had.

"It is treason, I have no doubt it would lead to death – his for certain, mine possibly. My husband is not wicked. He is not unkind or unloving, in his way, and yet I cannot bring myself to love him the way I know I should because my heart belongs to another."

Constance was silent; she had no idea how to reply to the Queen's statement, no idea why she'd decided to share this information with her in the first place. Surely two glasses of wine were not enough for the Queen of France to spill all her secrets?

"I think you understand what I am going through, that is why I have told you." Anne continued quietly. "Aramis has told me about d'Artagnan and his love for his land lady, who is married to a pompous old man but loves the young farm boy in return. Those are his words."

Constance found herself nodding sadly and speaking before she could stop herself. The Queen had was correct – her secret, if it got out, would end at the noose. Constance's own secret, while shameful, would not have consequences quite as dire; and the Queen deserved to the truth.

"I do love him. I love him in a way I did not think it was possible to love someone. But you are mistaken about him, he does not love me. He may be fond of me, but that is it."

"That is not how Aramis speaks of it. But please, tell me how you met."

"He is the worst sort of trouble maker,” She smiled to herself, remembering the look on his face the first time they met. “He arrived in Paris and got himself caught up in a mob. He grabbed me and kissed me to trick them so I pulled a knife on him."

"A knife?" Anne exclaimed with a laugh. "How thrilling."

Constance chuckled, nodding. "Well, he thought I was a prostitute and I thought he was a degenerate so I threatened him, he apologised and tried to leave. But he collapsed, because he was injured, so I brought him here to recover."

"And then?"

"Then, he insisted on going to fight Athos. It was all a misunderstanding but he was too stupid to listen to reason. I followed him and found him fighting Athos, Porthos and Aramis. Still injured. Probably about to die because he is a man and therefore stubborn to the point of idiocy."

They shared a knowing look and laugh.

"That was it, really. There was some intrigue with Athos but they got it sorted out and he moved into the spare room. It worked out well as my husband had been looking for a lodger, and I had been reluctant to agree. I didn't want some unknown man running around my house while my husband was away, treating it as his own. But d'Artagnan was different."

"And you have been in love since?"

"No. I liked him, certainly, but I didn't fall fully until he... well, he agreed to do something for me that I believe no other man in this world would have agreed to."

"Oh, Constance, you must tell me what."

Constance looked around, as if expecting someone to be there, listening to the conversation she could not believe she was having, before smiling at the Queen.

"He taught me to shoot."

Anne stared at her in disbelief and Constance found she could not help but laugh softly.

They were interrupted by the sound of voices in the hall and both stood as Aramis led his friends into the kitchen.

"Your majesty, Madame Bonacieux."

"How did the search go, gentlemen?" The Queen asked. Constance could see the change that came over her, as she shed the easy and casual persona she'd had all afternoon and retained the regal bearing she was used to. She was no longer Anne, a normal young woman in love with a man who was not her husband. She was, once again, the Spanish Queen of France and Constance felt an ache in her chest.

"We found nothing, your majesty. Whoever it was has likely been scared off. Captain Treville is waiting outside to return you to the palace, I believe he is going to suggest a guard outside your rooms for awhile." Athos told her. “And we will keep an ear out for any talk of this.”

"I thank you all for helping me when I asked, for coming up with this plan. And Constance, my dear, thank you."

Constance accepted the hand held out towards her, squeezing it lightly and nodding her understanding at the plea in the other woman's eyes; she wanted reassurance that Constance would not repeat what they had spoken about and Constance was more than happy to give it. She would take the Queen's secret to her grave, if she had to.

They broke apart and Constance watched as Aramis held open the Queen's cloak for her, a soft look on his face as he gazed down at her, before leading her out of the room. The Queen was not alone in her feelings, and Constance felt a dull ache in her heart at the idea that neither of them would get the happy ending they deserved from this.

Athos and Porthos followed them from the room, tipping their hats at her as they went, and Constance was left alone with d'Artagnan.

She turned her back on him, clearing the table quietly but aware of the weight of his gaze on her back. She jumped slightly when she felt his warm hand on the bare skin of her shoulder and turned to face him. She inhaled sharply when he leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers.

"Constance, I'm sorry." He spoke quietly. "I'm sorry for putting you in harms way. I'm sorry for not being here when she broke in, I'm sorry for not telling you that it was Aramis who saved you, for letting you believe it was me. I'm sorry for implying you were nothing more than my land lady. I'm sorry for every hurt and every worry I have caused you since we met."

He shifted his hands down to her hips, shifting her until she was against the table and he was leaning over her.

She knew she should push him away. She was still angry and hurt and upset, and she wasn't ready to forgive him yet.

But she couldn't bring herself to stop him when he lowered his face to hers. It was the first kiss they'd shared that wasn't a ploy and it was everything she had been dreaming about.

His lips were soft against hers and he used one hand to cradle her head while the other kept a firm grasp on her waist. His mouth was insistent against hers and she found herself opening her own beneath it, even as she told herself it was a bad idea.

Any of the Musketeers could walk in. The Queen could walk back in. Her husband could walk in.

The last thought should have brought her to her senses but all she could think of was that Anne would never get this with Aramis. She would live the rest of her life in love with him without ever getting to kiss him. The thought made her sad and made her tighten her grip on d'Artagnan's hair.

She did not have the Queen's riches or beautiful gowns or the palace, but she did have a freedom that Anne would never know, and she used it know to tighten her grip on d'Artagnan's shoulders.

He pulled back slightly, smiling down at her.

"You're not forgiven yet." She snapped at him before pulling him back towards her, ignoring his amused chuckle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I don't own any of the characters you recognise.  
> This was a chapter already written and posted at FF.net. I'm going to export those chapters before posting the new ones.


	4. The Queen's Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't own any of the characters you recognise.   
> This chapter was written during the first series and posted on FF.net. I have changed it slightly before posting it here and it doesn't link to any of the other chapters. 
> 
> Please enjoy :)

"This will never work."  
d'Artagnan turned an exasperated look towards the woman at his side, opening his mouth to reassure her for the fifth time since they had left the garison.   
"No, I'm serious." She continued before he could reply. "No one will believe we're married. Why on earth would Captain Treville suggest this? Why couldn't Flea and Porthos come instead?"  
d'Artagnan let her continue ranting, pressing a hand between her bare shoulder blades and leading her towards the house they needed to search. Although they were still a bit away, he could see that there was already a crowd of well dressed ladies and gentlemen standing and conversing with one another in the large, well kept garden. It had cost Captain Treville a small fortune to secure them an invitation and he wasn't going to let anyone down.  
"Because Porthos and Flea would stand out too much." She answered herself. "But surely Aramis had a lady friend who could help?"  
He didn't think she wanting him to answer so he let her continue to talk while he led them silently in the right direction.  
"Not that any of Aramis' lady friends could be trusted and of course Athos would never lower himself to this. This will be a disaster." She sighed, finally resigned, and he smiled brightly as he caught her eye.  
He had spent two days convincing Athos and the captain to send him on this mission but only fifteen minutes convincing them that Constance would be the perfect partner. Everyone had agreed that there wasn't another choice; if d'Artagnan had to undercover as a married man, the best woman to accompany him as his wife was Madame Bonacieux.  
After that it was a simple matter of convincing his land lady to join him in his attempt to find the serial jewel thief that had been terrorising Paris, and in particular the Musketeers.  
He had expected it to be easy but it had taken more coercing than he'd anticipated. Constance's love of adventure had been dampened slightly by the recent attempt on her life, and her husband's arrest and subsequent suicide.  
She had been left with a substantial amount of money, once her husband's less honourable dealings came to light, and he'd thought for sure that with the money and the husband who had plotted to kill her out of the way, Constance would be happy.  
But he'd been mistaken. Rather than being happy with her new freedom Constance had retreated into herself. She was quiet where she used to be talkative, timid where she used to be outgoing. She never showed how irritated she was with him anymore; not when he tracked mud through her house or when he showed up with all his friends and Flea expecting dinner at the last minute. He knew she didn't really mind them showing up but she always pretended to be irritated at the intrusion. Instead of shouting at him in front of them all to embarrass him, as he knew she enjoyed doing, she had quietly prepared the meal and politely declined their requests that she join them.  
She had stopped asking for fighting lessons, stopped begging him for stories of his missions and adventures as they sat quietly in the house at night. Instead she sewed in silence, never acknowledging him as he stared at her, even though he could tell she felt his gaze. And he'd heard her sobbing, late at night. He'd stood outside her bedroom door, hand on the doorknob and only the thought that she'd be angry at the intrusion stopped him from entering.  
It wasn't like her and he didn't like it at all. He wanted her back; the real Constance. The one who called him out for being a prideful idiot, the one who sighed with mock annoyance every time she had to bandage him or one of his friends up. He wanted the woman who could hold her own in every argument, the one who had taken to sword fighting better than most men because she put her whole heart into it. He wanted to hear her laughing loudly at Porthos' jokes and he would have given anything to see her slapping Aramis for flirting with her. He knew his friends felt the same way, because Aramis had taken the flirting with her to a whole new level and she had simply ignored him.  
He wanted his Constance back. And he was going to use this mission to get her.  
"It will be fine. We've played convincing lovers before, remember?" He murmured softly, allowing his fingers to brush against the back of her neck. She shivered slightly and he grinned triumphantly.  
If he was being honest with himself, this was about more than just helping her get her confidence back. After her husband had been dragged away for attempted murder and fraud everyone, including d'Artagnan, assumed that it was only a matter of time before Constance turned her attention to her lodger. Her husband's suicide had left her a widow and while d'Artagnan expected her to play the part in public, he had been sure she would turn to him for comfort in private. Porthos and Aramis even had a bet going with a few of the other Musketeers on how long it would take before they announced their courtship and d'Artagnan knew that all the dates that had been bet on had now passed.   
"Fooling one idiot who's standing ten feet away is different than convincing a whole house of people." She reminded him. He heard the challenge in her voice, winking at her when she glanced up at him.  
"I have complete faith in my acting ability and there is no one I'd rather pretend to be in love with. And Treville and Athos wouldn't have sent us if they didn't think we could pull this off."  
She snorted slightly and he allowed her to pull him to a stop.  
"Aramis told me you convinced them to let us be the ones to go. Why on earth would you do that?"  
He took in her worried eyes and tense shoulders, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. He noticed the way her eyes slid shut briefly at his touch and allowed himself to stroke his thumb across her soft skin reassuringly.  
"Because you were right. Porthos and Flea would not fit in here. Aramis has a long list of women who would, but none are trustworthy enough to keep quiet about what they're doing and aside from that, he is too distracted about the theft to be much use. Athos is well known in this part of the country and would never be allowed entrance, even if he found a suitable woman to play along. We need to get the Queen's diamonds back before the ball, or Aramis will be dragged off to some dark, damp prison cell and then secretly executed. You and I are his best option."  
"This could all go horribly wrong." She reminded him quietly. "I don't think I can pull this off."  
"My darling Constance, you're the only person in the world I trust to help me pull this off." He told her softly. His hand dropped to her neck and he pulled her closer. "There are people watching from the house, make it believable."  
She shivered and he bit back a grin as he hid his face in her neck. She smelt like lavender and he inhaled deeply, his hand resting on her hip.  
"Are you ready?" He asked, raising his head to meet her eyes but not breaking his grip on her.  
"I suppose. Though I don't know why I let you talk me into these things." She sighed again and sounded so much like herself that he had to bite back a grin.  
d'Artagnan pulled back and took her hand, tucking it into his arm and leading her the final distance to the house.  
"I won't let anything happen to you." He promised and she snorted.  
"Yes, I've heard that before." she replied and realisation suddenly crashed down on him.   
"I am not that coward." He spat agrily, his grip on her hand tightening slightly.  
Monsieur Bonacieux had requested the Musketeer's help when a delivery of material had gone missing. d'Artagnan, Aramis and Constance had gone undercover to try and find the missing material and Constance had almost been shot for her trouble. It had been a week later they had discovered her husband's role in the plot, although no one was sure why he'd want to kill his pretty young wife. Before sending her on the mission, her husband had assured her she would be safe. d'Artagnan had been there when Monsieur Bonacieux had cupped her face and kissed her forehead, swearing to see her on their return. He'd ignored the envy that stirred in his gut at the sight of her with Bonacieux, reminding himself that although he was sure she loved him as he loved her, she was still a married woman and nothing could come of it.  
It had taken both Porthos and Aramis to hold him back when they'd returned from their false mission with a terrified Constance and no sign of missing material. The surprised and frightened look on the older man's face when he'd seen her had confirmed what d'Artagnan already knew and he had come very close to killing him himself. It had been Constance's tearful plea that had stopped him more than anything else and he'd allowed himself to hold her as Aramis had arrested Bonacieux and passed him, roughly, to Porthos to bring to the cells.   
"I will never let anything or anyone harm you." He told her quietly, almost at the garden. "You have to trust me, Constance."  
He felt her squeeze his arm slightly in response and smiled softly down at her.  
"Okay, I'm ready." She took a deep breath and nodded.  
"Athos is in the building opposite. Aramis is in that clearing to the right and Porthos is to the left. If anything happens and you need to run, make for one of them and they will keep you safe." He murmured as they reached the garden gate. He pushed it open and allowed her to walk in before him.  
Her shoulders were set with determination and he admired the picture she made in the new lilac coloured gown that Aramis had insisted on getting her, the colour setting off the tiny sprigs of lavender in her dark hair. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and when they made it out of this, he was going to dedicate all his time to showing her that.  
"Ah, Monsieur and Madame Devereux I assume?" Their hostess was a woman at least ten years older than them, with tightly curled hair and an impressive emerald set in diamonds around her neck. "My name is Sophia Rochefort."  
d'Artagnan recognised the necklace as belonging to the wife of a wealthy friend of Captain Treville's, who had invited the entire garrison to dinner one night. The man always treated the Musketeers with respect and kindness, and he made a note to tell the captain that the necklace was here.  
He tightened his grip slightly on Constance, their signal if they noticed something strange, and nodded slightly towards the necklace. She returned the grip briefly without pausing in her conversation with the woman and he knew she had seen it.  
"We are eternally grateful for the invitation, Madame." She was saying when he brought his attention back to the conversation. "We wanted to ensure that we met the best type of people in town."  
"You have just moved here, yes? I am very glad that you chose our little village; we always enjoy having young blood around, isn't that right dear?"  
An older man had joined them, dressed in the finest cloth d'Artagnan had seen outside of the palace, and taken their hostesses hand in his own.  
"Always, my love." He agreed with her easily with a smile. His eyes scanned the two of them quickly, in a way d'Artagnan recognised from working and training with the other Musketeers. The man was a fighter, ready to attack at a moment's notice, and it put d'Artagnan on guard as they shook hands.  
"Please, feel free to look around the house." Sophie smiled at them again. "We've recently had it redecorated. If you like it, I will pass on the name of our agent. Dinner will be served in an hour or so and there are members of staff with wine."  
"That would be wonderful." Constance gushed so sincerely that d'Artagnan was slightly taken aback. "Thank you, we won't keep you from your other guests."  
They stood in silence until Rochefort and his wife moved away.  
"That's definitely one of the stolen necklaces." d'Artagnan spoke quietly. "I say we have a look around the rest of the house before we do anything else. With a bit of luck, the Queen's diamonds will be sitting in the open and we won't have to stay long."  
"You think we're lucky?" Constance snorted.  
"I know I'm lucky." He retorted, leading her towards the hallway. He took her hand as they opened the first door.  
"Really? Everything that's happened since you arrived in Paris. You call that luck?"  
"You don't?" They were in a maid's bedroom and a quick glance around told d'Artagnan that he would not find what he was looking for here. They left and quickly pushed open the door of the second room.  
"You've been arrested and beat up and shot at and almost blown up. You've been falsely accused of three different crimes and you almost killed one of your best friends over a woman. How is that luck?" Constance wasn't looking at him. Instead she was wondering through the library they found themselves in, her fingers lightly tracing the books she passed. He was again struck by the sight she made as she moved through the room but he shook the thought out of his head and stepped towards her, resting a hand on her shoulder.  
"I arrived in Paris and collapsed." He reminded her. "I could have been left to rot in the gutter, but I was lucky enough to fall in front of the one decent person in the city. The same kind, decent woman who brought me into her home and looked after me, who followed me into danger and stopped me from making a huge mistake. The woman who required no convincing to dress as a prostitute and follow a stranger into the dark, cold streets of Paris because she thought she could help a friend. A woman who was willing to play along with my ideas and schemes, who stood between me and her husband because she knew I was an innocent man. A woman who accepted my word that a man would not hurt her and then forgave me when he did. A woman who was willing to go into a house full of armed men, all to help a woman and an infant she barely knew."  
Constance had turned to face him, her eyes wet.  
"Don't make me sound important, d'Artagnan. That could have been anyone."  
"But it wasn't. It was you. And I thank God every day that it was you." He told her. "And when we find the Queen's diamonds and return them to her, when you come out of mourning for that coward, I am going to thank you every day."  
He met her stare evenly, smiling slightly at the sight of her open mouth and wide eyes.  
This was not the place or the time for romance, but he would not allow her to believe that her role in his life could have been filled by any random person off the street. She was important to him; perhaps the most important thing in his life now that he was officially a Musketeer. He was willing to give her the time to grieve her husband, but he would not wait too long. He would not allow someone else to snatch her from under him.  
"d'Artagnan, I..."  
"We shall speak no more until we have found our jewel thief." He told her firmly. "But you must understand how important you are to me."  
She nodded, still looking surprised.  
"I don't think we'll find anything in here." She finally spoke.  
"No, I doubt they would hide stolen jewels in a library." He agreed.  
They left the room hand in hand. They were now at the stairs and he glanced around the room. No one was paying them the slightest bit of attention and their hosts didn't seem to have noticed their absence, he noted before pushing Constance in front of him and up the steps.  
The first door at the top of the stairs opened into what looked like the main bedroom. d'Artagnan closed the door quietly behind him and he looked at Constance.  
"I don't think the invitation to look around extended to their bedroom." She told him dryly.  
He grinned at her and shrugged.  
"They didn't mention not looking in here." He reminded her. She rolled her eyes at him, turning towards the large vanity table. She began rummaging through the drawers and he took a minute to admire the way the light from the window cast a golden glow on the bare skin of her shoulders.  
"d'Artagnan..."  
He was pulled out of his thoughts by her voice and he smiled guiltily at the accusing look she was giving him. He hadn't meant to be caught staring but he couldn't say he regretted it.  
"I think I've found them."  
He strode across the room, leaning over her shoulder to look at the diamond bracelet she held in her hands. It was exactly like the one he had seen the Queen wear when he had gone to the palace with Aramis.  
"This is it, right?" She asked and he nodded. "How do we smuggle it out?"  
d'Artagnan looked around the room, nodding towards the window.  
"That window should look on to Porthos' hiding place. We need to get his attention and we can throw it down to him."  
"Throw it? This is the Queen of France's diamond bracelet and you want to throw it out the window?"  
There was steel in her voice in a way that he hadn't heard since the ordeal with her husband had begun and he found himself smiling widely.  
"Don't be stupid d'Artagnan. Put it in your pocket."  
"And be accused of stealing it if we're caught? No that will raise too much suspicion; it's safer to throw it to safety. If Porthos can't reach it then we can find it once we're outside."  
"Yes, because it won't look at all suspicious if we crawl around in the garden for a while once we leave. Honestly, how do you boys get anything done?"  
He watched, stunned, as she slipped the bracelet down the front of her dress and rearranged her corset. His mouth was dry and his palms felt sweaty and he wanted nothing more than to press her against the wall and kiss her.  
"What?" She snapped as he continued to stare in silence and he raised startled, dark eyes to her.  
"Won't it fall out?"  
He cleared his throat when his voice came out higher than he expected and saw her grinning slightly, her cheeks turning pink under his attention.  
"No, my corset is tight enough to keep it where it is. Which is uncomfortable, I'll have you know, so we should leave soon. What about the rest of the jewellery? There's dozens of pieces in that drawer."  
"The captain will arrange for people to come and search the house but the Queen's diamonds couldn't be found here. No one would believe that they thieves were able to get inside the palace and steal them and the Cardinal isn't stupid. He would know the Queen had given them to someone. He already dislikes Aramis, we don't want to give him another excuse to have him beheaded."  
"Why does he dislike him so mu-"  
The sound of steps in the hallway outside made her eyes widen and she looked at him in panic, darting forward and closing the door quickly. It made a squeaky noise that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet room and he winced/ Constance stepped towards him and he took her arm, listening closely to the approaching footsteps.  
"It's just in the bedroom, I'll get it for you."  
"Your husband does wonderful work. Where does he get the jewels, Madame?"  
"Oh, he has a supplier in Spain."  
The voices were coming closer and he looked around in a panic. There was no where to hide and he couldn't ask Constance to drop out of the window.  
"Mess up your hair." She hissed at him suddenly. He frowned in confusion, shaking his head.  
"What?"  
"Shh, hurry up." She tugged her corset lower than it had been and he felt a jolt of lust as he stared at the sight. She moved her fingers to her own hair next, tugging it out of the neat style she had fixed that morning before scowling at him. "Idiot man. Why else would we be in a bedroom, d'Artagnan?"  
He pulled his gaze away forcefully, moving to obey automatically and running his fingers roughly through his hair and trying to ignore Constance's hands as she tugged his shirt free from his trousers. Her fingers brushed against the skin of his hip and he bit back a whimper.  
The voices stopped suddenly and he stared at the door handle as it began to turn before allowing Constance to pull his head towards hers.  
It was the first time she had initiated a kiss between them and he was disappointed that it was just another ruse to get him out of trouble. He cupped the back of her head, deepening the kiss as the door opened and he heard a gasp. For the sake of the ruse, he didn't pull back immediately. He stroked the side of her neck and her collarbone and licked softly at her bottom lip, grinning as she released a soft moan against his mouth. Her hands tightened on his hips before she pulled away, an embarrassed look on her flushed face as she took in Sofia Rochefort and anpther older woman.  
"Oh, Madame Rochefort, we beg your forgiveness." She stuttered. "We were looking around and we just... well..."  
"Oh, to be young and in love." The older woman chuckled. Sofia laughed lightly but d'Artagnan saw her calculated glance at the dressing table and tightened his grip on Constance.  
"So sorry, Madame. If you'll excuse us." He smiled tightly at them, tugging her out of the room behind them.  
"Quickly, before they discover it's missing." He hissed. He led her straight out of the house and across the street, to where he could see Athos and Aramis heading towards Porthos' hiding place.  
"You have found it?" Aramis asked when they reached them.  
d'Artagnan had a sudden flash of where the bracelet was currently nestled and scowled at Aramis.  
"It's safe. You can have it when we get back to Paris." He told his friend, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Constance. She was flushed but her eyes were shining brightly in excitement as she rolled them in his direction.  
"You really are from the country." She muttered as she pulled the bracelet from her corset. His scowl deepened as Aramis grinned suggestively.  
"I am again in your debt, my darling." He lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on the knuckles.  
"Just because I don't want to see the Cardinal behead you doesn't mean I won't do it myself." She replied, tugging her hand back and fixing her corset again before glancing behind them. "Now, let's go home because I am pretty sure that's the jewel thief looking out his window at us."  
They turned to face the house and found that, sure enough, Rochefort was standing at the bedroom window with his wife, staring at where they were standing. He couldn't see them because of the thick trees but d'Artagnan could almost feel the weight of his gaze.  
"Thank you for your assistance, Constance." Aramis spoke sincerely as they walked to where the horses were saddled. "It was invaluable."  
"You are welcome, although I didn't do much." She smiled softly.  
"You found the diamond and you came up with the escape plan." D'artagnan reminded her.  
"You would have come up with something." She told him as he helped her onto her horse. "You always do."  
"My plan was to jump from the window." He grinned at the sight of her shocked face.  
"I don't know why that surprises me. You're such an idiot." She sighed.  
He grinned at her as she rode ahead to join Athos. He watched as the older man said something to her that made her laugh and found himself smiling.  
"She is herself again?" Aramis asked quietly from beside him. d'Artagnan nodded at him.  
"More so than ever." He smiled.


	5. St Louis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own any of the characters you might recognise. This was posted on FF.Net during the 1st series and has been edited slightly before being posted here. 
> 
> I am probably meaner to Bonacieux here than I should be but I need a villain and I was angry with him when I wrote this... 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's left Kudos! I appreciate the feedback.

"She was not at home when I got there, but I have spoken to her husband."  
Porthos looked up from where he had been watching Athos train d'Artagnan as Aramis joined him on the small, rickety balcony that over looked the garrison yard, well out of earshot of the young Gascon.  
"What good is that going to do us?" Porthos asked with a frown. "She wouldn't have confided in that idiot, even if they are married."  
"No, but that idiot is walking around as if he suddenly owns half of Paris." Aramis replied. "He has always acted above everyone else but this is something different. He has an arrogance, a confidence even, now that wasn't there before and I don't like it."  
"Poor Constance, having to put up with such an imbecile." Porthos chuckled.  
Aramis shook his head in frustration, accepting the glass of wine that Porthos handed him.  
"No, I think he has something to do with d'Artagnan's drinking. I simply cannot accept that Constance broke his heart of her own free will. It is cruel and callous, and completely out of character for her. She is the sweetest woman in France, we all know this. Her husband must be involved in it."  
"You think he found out about them and demanded they split? But why not just tell d'Artagnan that was the reason?"  
"Half of France knew about them." Aramis sighed with a fond smile. "And there is no real love between Monsieur Bonacieux and our dear Constance so there would be no jealousy."  
"Some men don't like to be made a fool of." Porthos reminded him. "Maybe he didn't like the thought of people knowing his wife had another lover. Women only stray from their marriage beds if they aren't getting what they need there, most husbands don't like that."  
"I think you're on to something, but I don't think it's that simple. You saw them that morning before we left for Calais. It took Athos threatening to run him through to pull them apart, I don't think an angry husband would even make an impression, not on Constance but especially not on d'Artagnan."  
"What else could it be, though?" Porthos asked with another frown. He spun his hat in his hands as he thought, looking up only when Aramis sighed loudly.  
"Whatever it was, we have to find out and we have to fix it. d'Artagnan is distracted and moody, and Athos found him passed out drunk two nights in a row. We can't let him throw away his chance, now that the King has granted him a commission. Her husband mentioned that his wife often went to church to pray, so that's where we're going now."  
"How will we know which church?" Porthos asked as he stood. "In case you've forgotten, there's more than a few in Paris."  
"d'Artagnan mentioned that she was fond of Saint Louis' when she was troubled. That's where we'll start."  
"Right, we'll be needing the horses then."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Constance had not planned to stay out for so long when she'd left the house early that morning and walked for over an hour to church. She had wanted solitude, and time away from her gloating husband and it was difficult to give up the blessed silence. It was now well past noon and she felt no desire to return to her home and begin making her husband's evening meal.  
She wasn't sure what had happened to the man she had married. Certainly, he had always been arrogant and vain, but it was as if he'd been replaced by a different person since getting the Cardinal's commission. The commission itself had yet to appear, of course, but her husband was convinced that he had the ear of the Cardinal and continually dropped hints of what the Cardinal could do to d'Artagnan given the right motivations. She had served him dinner two nights ago and he had mentioned d'Artagnan being cornered in a dark alley and beaten to death by the Red Guards. He had asked her if she thought the young man would think of her as he died in agony. He had gone into such vivid detail that she felt her own dinner churn in her stomach and had spent over twenty minutes throwing up as her husband sat in his chair and smoked his pipe, ignoring her pain.  
He frightened her now.  
She had been indifferent to him before; she had never loved him but nor had she hated him until last week. Until he had forced her to break the heart of the man she loved with all of her own. Until he had watched, with a gleeful smile, as she had lay on the bed that had been his and sobbed for hours the night he had left.  
He had hurt her that night. He had never touched her in anger before, never even raised his voice, but he had grabbed her arm and twisted it so painfully she had cried out when she'd refused to talk about d'Artagnan with him. She had wanted to hit back; wanted to grab the sword d'Artagnan had been training her with and run him through with it, show him that she wasn't a weak little girl that he could bully but she was afraid.  
Any move against him might hurt d'Artagnan in the long run and she couldn't risk that. She couldn't let him get hurt any more than he already was.  
So she had stood there, forcing back tears as he twisted the skin of her arm, asking her how her lover had treated her in bed.  
Had he always been so malicious and cruel? Had she been blind to those faults, even while she saw so many others in him? She had always thought him meek and fearful, the opposite of d'Artagnan, who was passionate and brave and she had never thought to be afraid of him.  
She felt the tears well up again as she traced the bruise on her arm and cursed herself silently. After almost a week of tears, she wasn't sure how she had any left to cry.  
A sound by the door drew her attention and she glanced up and behind her. The church had been empty when she'd arrived and the priest had left her to her solitude after saying a quick prayer with her. Now she could see two of the last people she had wanted to see making their way towards her.  
She stood abruptly, fixing her skirts and wiping her eyes with her back to them, before turning and smiling quickly.  
"Porthos, Aramis. I didn't know you prayed here, so far from the garrison."  
"We don't, Madame. We're here to seek you out." Porthos told her quietly.  
Constance felt her breath catch, unsure of what to expect. The Musketeers would never hurt her, she knew that, but what if they had some bad news to tell her. What if d'Artagnan had been injured? What if he had told them everything and they hated her now? Were they coming to warn her away from him?  
"Oh. Well I am afraid that I am late for an appointment and I must be off. Some other time, perhaps."  
She made to walk past them, closing her eyes and cursing silently when Aramis caught her arm in a light grip. The pain rushed through her and she winced, trying to hide the expression before turning to face them again.  
She pulled her arm from his grip and fixed her sleeve over the purple and yellow skin before sitting back down when Aramis motioned for her to do so.  
"Our young Gascon friend has told us what happened." Aramis started quietly. Constance kept her eyes fixed on the altar, listening to him and taking deep breaths to keep the tears out of her eyes. She could cry in private when she got home, she reminded herself. She had to keep up appearances in public; especially in front of the Musketeers.  
"Then why are you here?" She forced herself to ask calmly. "You already know there is nothing between d'Artagnan and I anymore."  
"Do you really think any of us believe that? Constance, we have seen you together. He adores you; worships you even. And you return the feeling, don't try to deny that. We all have eyes, we've all seen it. Please, tell us what has happened that has changed."  
"I have decided that I cannot risk my future on a man with no money and no prospects." She replied emotionlessly. "That's all. I am fond of him, of course I am. But I do not love him."  
"Don't lie to us." Porthos told her. "You might have caught him unaware, but we can see right through that."  
"God," She cried suddenly, taking slight pleasure in the way the two of them drew back slightly. "Can't you just accept it? It's over and done with, he is a Musketeer now. That should make him happy enough to forget about me. Why are you insisting on dragging this out and making it worse?"  
"He is a Musketeer who is drowning himself in alcohol every night. He is pushing himself too hard, too fast in training and he will end up hurting himself or someone else. Is that what you want?" Aramis asked her. "He could die if he is distracted. And he is always distracted now."  
"There is nothing I can do to help that." She told them, trying to calm herself again. She could feel the tears building in her eyes but she could also feel the anger in the pit of her stomach. Why was everyone so sure that d'Artagnan was the only one hurting? Why could no one see through her lies and see that her heart was breaking too and every time someone mentioned his name, it broke a little further.  
"You can tell us what happened." Porthos told her softly, placing a large hand on her bare shoulder. "No one believes you to be as cruel as d'Artagnan's story portrays you, Constance. We can help, if you let us."  
"You can't." She spoke before thinking. "No one can help."  
She could see the second it registered with them, that there was hope for their cause. Aramis sat up straighter next to her, and Porthos tightened his grip ever so slightly on her shoulder.  
"Tell us." Aramis pleaded. "We care about you, Constance, just as we care about d'Artagnan and we can see this is hurting you, just as it is hurting him. Why would you want to put yourself through this pain?"  
"I have to." She whispered.  
It was the knowledge that they saw through her lies that broke her, she realised. They knew there was something more going on, and they were willing to help her. She didn't think they could, of course, but perhaps they could help him.  
"You don't. I promise you, whatever it is, we'll help. Has your husband done something?" Porthos told her.  
She took a deep breath, looking down at her clasped hands before facing them fully.  
"If I tell you, you cannot tell him." She spoke quietly, looking around. She was likely being paranoid, but everyone in France knew that the Cardinal had spies everywhere and she couldn't risk making things worse. "There is nothing you can do to change it, so please don't put yourselves at risk over this."  
She waited until they nodded before speaking.  
"My husband has gotten a commission from the Cardinal, to make the new uniforms for his Red Guards. Well, he thinks he has one; I believe the Cardinal is toying with him but he's too much of an idiot to see that."  
She saw Porthos smirk at her words and felt herself smiling softly in return.  
"The Cardinal asked him to spy on d'Artagnan, to find a weakness that could be used against him in the challenge between the Musketeers and the Guards. He saw us."  
She couldn't believe how reckless she had been, running after him in the street like that. It was all her fault, she knew that. If she had waited until he'd returned to explain everything to him, her husband would never have seen them and they would still be happy.  
"He told me that the Cardinal has taken an interest in d'Artagnan. I don't think it's a good interest. He said that I had to break his heart, or he'd have the Cardinal kill him. I had to make him leave, I had to make him hate me."  
She sobbed into her hands, hating herself all over again as she told the story. She felt a large hand on her back and allowed herself the small comfort that at least they didn't hate her too.  
"We can fix this." Aramis said firmly.  
"We can't. He can't know I've told you or he'll have the Cardinal hurt him. You can't tell anyone." She pleaded, looking up at them. "He can't die because of me."  
"He would die for you." Porthos told her softly. She nodded in acknowledgement.  
He had told her as much, as they lay on his tiny bed in her husband's house. His fingers had been stroking a pattern on her bare back as she'd lay across his chest, dozing lightly after the third time they'd made love. He'd promised her that one day he'd get her out of her loveless marriage, that he'd always protect her. He had told her he loved her and would kill for her, die for her and there was no doubt in her mind that he meant every word.  
"You believe your husband has the Cardinal's ear?" Aramis asked.  
"I thought so, at first. But then there was no news of the commission, and I thought perhaps the Cardinal had used him simply to get to d'Artagnan before the competition. But I cannot take that risk."  
"I think you can." Porthos argued. "The Cardinal isn't going to risk his position with the King to help some pompous cloth merchant get revenge on his wife's lover. D'Artagnan is the King's newest recruit, if something was to suddenly happen to him, the King wouldn't be happy."  
"I agree. The Queen likes d'Artagnan as well, she can be relied to on help protect him." Aramis added. "We must go to Treville and tell him what has happened. He can speak to the Cardinal, or the King. But I promise you, nothing will happen to d'Artagnan."  
Constance shook her head. "I am glad that you know about the threat, but it changes nothing. I am a married woman and we were foolish to ignore that. I love him, but we cannot be together."  
"Don't throw away happiness, Constance. Don't allow d'Artagnan to become like Athos, miserable alone but unwilling to trust another." Aramis took her hand and pushed up the sleeve of her dress, fingers tracing the bruise tenderly. "You are better than this. We are aware of the threat now and we can help you. We can protect you from your husband, get him sent from the city if needs be. If it was him who left this bruise, we can have him sent to the grave."  
"You can't." She shook her head, pulling her arm from his grasp and fixing her sleeves. "Please, help d'Artagnan. Keep him safe and happy and I will be fine."  
She stood and pushed past them, walking down the aisle quickly with a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs.  
She had done the right thing, she told herself. It would be much harder for the Cardinal or her husband to harm him with the entire weight of the Musketeer garrison behind him. And perhaps one day, d'Artagnan would forgive her for her harsh words and then she could begin to forgive herself.  
"Constance! It is miles from your home, at least accept a ride back." Aramis stopped her before she could leave. She shook her head.  
"My husband cannot see me returning with you, or he will know. It is too big a risk."  
"Madame, we are gentlemen. We cannot allow a lady to walk for over two hours when we have the means to make her more comfortable. We will drop you on the opposite side of the city and you may walk the rest of the way, we will not try to stop you."  
"And you won't try to change my mind?" She asked suspiciously. Aramis placed his hand over his heart and bowed to her.  
"That I cannot promise, I am afraid. But I will lift you and put you on to the horse myself if you continue to be stubborn."  
She sighed and nodded her acceptance, taking his offered arm with a small smile. She could be content that they didn't hate her, even if she would never feel happy again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the previous chapter, also written and posted on FF.Net during the first series. I've edited it and changed it slightly. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"What, exactly, are you trying to tell me?"  
Aramis rolled his eyes at Athos' dry voice as Porthos threw his hands up in defeat.  
They had come across Athos on his final rounds of the city before he retired for the night and relayed their whole conversation with Constance to him. He had listened in silence, nodding on occasion as if they had confirmed something he had already thought of but now he was being deliberately obtuse.  
"We're trying to tell you that M. Bonacieux is strutting around Paris, claiming he can have d'Artagnan killed at the dropped of a hat; that he is the reason d'Artagnan has been drinking himself into a stupor these past few nights."  
"I agree that the drinking should be stopped before it becomes a problem," Athos nodded, ignoring the startled look passed between his two friends. "But I am not convinced that d'Artagnan's new view of love are a bad thing."  
"Do not allow your own bitterness with love to taint what d'Artagnan and Constance have. You have seen them together, you cannot deny what is there. He deserves to be happy, and so does she." Aramis argued. "If you won't do anything for his sake, then do it for hers. I will not allow any friend of mine to live in a house where she is threatened."  
He watched the play of emotions that crossed the older man's face.   
Athos had always been fond of Constance; they had known each other longer than Athos had known any of the other Musketeers but no one was quite sure how they had met and why they were so fond of each other. If nothing else, Athos would not allow their friend to go on being threatened by her idiotic ape of a husband.  
"Fine, but I am still not sure what you think we can do about it. We can threaten Bonacieux, of course, but until we know if he is, indeed, working for the Cardinal, we must be careful so we cannot kill him."  
Aramis and Porthos exchanged triumphant smiles.  
"We won't kill him, but we have to tell d'Artagnan. Preferably before he starts drinking tonight." Porthos chuckled. "And the Captain. He'll know what to do."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Did you have a good day in church?"  
Constance sighed softly as she placed a plate of food in front of her husband and nodded. He had come home from his warehouse in a foul mood because a shipment had not been delivered and there was still no commission from the Cardinal; all his attempts to speak to the most powerful man in France had failed and as he had been boasting of the commission, he was beginning to look foolish. He had deliberately pushed past her earlier, causing her to bang her hip against the cabinet in their hallway and drop the vase of flowers she was holding.   
The vase had belonged to her mother and while it hadn't broken, she'd had to clean up the spillage and the flowers she had picked to try and cheer herself up were now destroyed and she was still inwardly seething as she placed a jug of wine on the table.   
"Did you confess your sins? Tell the priest that you are nothing more than a common girl who whores herself out to soldiers? How many Hail Marys did he demand for forgiveness of your eternal soul?"  
"There is no confession service in Saint Louis'. I go for the solitude." She replied coldly. She had eaten earlier and made to leave the room when he grabbed her bruised arm and squeezed. She winced at the pain but managed not to cry out as he pulled her towards him.  
"If I find out you were not truly in church and with that boy instead..."  
The pounding on the door interrupted him and he frowned, looking at her.  
"Are we expecting anyone?" He asked, loosening his grip on her arm and roughly tugged her sleeve down to cover his finger mark.  
"Perhaps it's the Cardinal with your commission. No doubt you're important enough for him to visit personally with it." She spoke before she could help herself and then winced at the anger in his face.  
She would pay for the insolence later, she had no doubt, but she made for the door quickly before he could react.  
There was another loud knock as she reached it, and she hesitated briefly with her hand over the handle before pulling it open and swearing softly.  
"What are you doing here?" She hissed, pushing d'Artagnan back.   
She scowled at the three Musketeers standing behind him, narrowing her eyes at Aramis' pleased face.  
"You promised you wouldn't tell him."  
d'Artagnan caught her hand as she raised it to slap Aramis and tugged her forward, out of the doorway and towards him. He rested one hand on her hip and used the other to tilt her face towards him.  
"Is your husband at home?" He asked softly. She nodded mutely as he pushed up the sleeve of her dress and scowled at the sight of the bruise there. "I will kill him."  
"You can't! What are you even doing here? Didn't they explain the plot to kill you?" She hissed at him, pushing him back further. He smiled down at her, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and chuckling when she slapped his hand away.  
"Stop laughing!"  
"Calm down, Constance. Did you really think we would show up if we didn't have the matter well in hand?" Athos spoke dryly from the back of the group. "Aramis and Porthos have explained everything to the Captain but he would like to speak to you before we proceed further. However, d'Artagnan and I would like a word with your husband."  
"No." She hissed back at him, ignoring the surprise on his face. "You're only going to make this worse. Idiot Musketeers, I knew I shouldn't have told you. Go away before he sees you."  
"I will not leave you here with him." d'Artagnan swore, bringing his hands up to cup her face. “Not this time.”   
She felt the fight drain out of her at the anger in his eyes.  
"I am sorry for not seeing through the ruse earlier, forgive me." He murmured. "I will spend the rest of my life making up for it, I swear. But please, go with Aramis and Porthos to see the Captain. We can protect you."  
"I'm not worried about me, you idiot."  
She felt her stomach swoop at the sight of his soft smile and closed her eyes against the feeling of his calloused thumb stroking her jaw.  
"You do not need to worry about me. Athos and I are simply going to speak to your husband and explain-"  
"Unhand my wife, Monsieur, or I will be forced to call the Red Guards."  
Constance closed her eyes at the sound of her husband's voice, wondering if she was stuck in some sort of nightmare. She heard his heavy boots as he approached the doorway and wondered where his bravery had come from. Before his commission, he would not have dared face down the Musketeers.  
She turned, facing her husband. She felt d'Artagnan's hands come to rest on her hip and saw her husband glance down at the possessive gesture and scowl, taking another step towards them.  
"Go inside, Constance." He ordered. "I will speak to the Musketeers out here as they are no longer welcome in my home."  
She felt d'Artagnan tighten his grip and found herself shaking her head before realising she had done so. Her husband's face flushed with the anger at the refusal.  
"Madame Bonacieux has a meeting the Captain Treville. Porthos and Aramis are here to escort her to the palace to meet with the Captain. And the Queen." Athos kept his voice calm and steady but Constance could hear the threat in it, and she could see that her husband heard it too.  
"My wife's place is at home at this time of the night. She will not go wandering around with Musketeers like a common whore."  
Aramis pulled her out of the way as d'Artagnan struck her husband. She allowed him to hold her away from the scene, her mouth open in surprise.  
"Go with Aramis and Porthos." Athos ordered her, pulling her attention away from where her husband lay with a bloody nose, glaring up at an enraged d'Artagnan. Her lover stood over her husband, ready to strike again at the slightest provocation. "We will not be far behind."  
The shot rang out loudly, causing her to shriek and for Aramis to drag her behind the nearest wall for cover as a second rang out. She peeked around the corner, her eyes searching for d'Artagnan. He was inside her house, pistol out as he used her front door for coverage. She could see Athos in the window of her kitchen, in a similar stance. Porthos was facing them, hiding behind a different wall with his own gun. Aramis pressed something into her hand and she glanced down at the pistol he had handed her before looking back up at him.  
"I assume he didn't just teach you sword fighting?" He asked with a smirk. "Stay here and shoot anyone that comes near you."  
She nodded, watching with wide eyes as Aramis crossed the street quickly, before glancing back at the house. She could see a figure lying by the door, unmoving, and realised with a sinking stomach that it could only be her husband and that he was dead.  
She wasn't sure how she should feel, but she was certain it shouldn't be relief. All the Hail Marys in the world would be unable to save her soul now, she thought, as she felt the weight that she had been carrying suddenly lift as she stared at her husband's body.   
She watched as d'Artagnan stepped outside the house and shout something back inside before turning to look for her. He strode towards her, one hand held out for her to take as the other held his pistol in the direction the shots had come from. He kept her between his body and the wall as they approached the other Musketeers, who were standing over Bonacieux. The blood would take hours to get out of the stone, she thought absently.  
"I believe your husband was the intended victim, Constance." Athos told her as she reached them. "The shots stopped when he died."  
"But.. why?" She asked, allowing d'Artagnan to pull her to his side and rest an arm around her shoulders. She allowed her head to drop against his shoulder and she closed her eyes against the sight. She had wished it so many times over the last week but she could barely believe it had happened.   
"I can only guess, but I imagine the Cardinal has caught wind of the threats being made in his name. The last thing a man like the Cardinal wants is to appear weak and if word got out that he was afraid of d'Artagnan winning the competition, he would be ridiculed and lose his power over people. Also, the King has taken an interest in d'Artagnan and does not like his pets to be threatened."  
"Pet?" d'Artagnan spat out. Athos shrugged.  
"It is an apt expression."  
"I think I'm going to be sick." Constance muttered, turning her face further into d'Artagnan's shoulders.  
She really couldn't believe that it was over; that her husband's cruel streak had ended in his death and she was free. She was a widow at twenty five.  
"I'm going to need black dresses." She whispered. "I'll have to go into mourning."  
She watched as Athos made his way towards Aramis and Porthos, who was talking and pointing at the roof of one of her neighbours houses. She could see her neighbours at their windows and doors, looking out and wondering what was going on.  
"I am sorry that I left you to him." d'Artagnan murmured. "I cannot believe how blind and stupid I was, not to see how much you were hurt too."  
"It is over now." She replied. "He's gone."  
"Are you upset?" He asked in surprise. She shook her head.  
"I don't know what I am." She answered. "But I am glad you do not hate me. I couldn't bear it if you did."  
"I never hated you, it's impossible. You are the best woman I've ever met, remember?"  
She felt a smile tug on the corner of her lips at his words.  
"Tell me the one about shining so brightly again?" She requested with a small smirk.  
d'Artagnan laughed, drawing the attention of the other Musketeers, and swept her into an embrace.  
"I love you." he murmured in her ear. "I came here to kill your husband for separating us and for hurting you. I will never allow anyone else to do the same."  
"I love you too." She replied into his shoulder. "I may be eternally damned for it, but I love you too."


	7. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I don't own any of the characters you recognise.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The garrison had changed little in the years they had been away.   
There were still men wandering about dressed in the familiar blue cloaks, heavier now that winter had set in, and shouting at one another across the snow covered yard as d'Artagnan followed Aramis inside, with the others riding behind them; a long line of cold, battle weary soldiers returning home from a war that had lasted too long; a constant fight that had lost France so many good men and won them little more than another uneasy truce with Spain.   
Silence fell as the men in the yard realise that their friends and brothers had returned before a loud cheer rose and they start to applaud; the older men who had stayed behind to protect Paris leaning down to explain to the younger recruits who these people were and what they had done for their King and country. Men began spilling out of the shelters, uncaring of the falling snow as they joined in.  
Although it was a cheerful sound, d'Artagnan cared little for their applause and cheers. After spending almost two years fighting a war and seeing more death and destruction than he had ever wished to see, he wanted nothing more than to wash the smell of battle from himself, drink himself stupid and crawl into a warm bed he would hopefully be sharing with his wife for many years to come.   
He had hoped she would be here to welcome him back; her wide, cheerful smile would be a balm for the weariness he had been unable to shake over the final few months of the war but he was disappointed not to see that familiar flash of red hair amongst the gathered crowd.   
“Welcome home boys. And Merry Christmas.” Captain Treville called from his spot overlooking the garrison yard and another cheer went up. He nodded at them before turning away in a clear indication that they were to follow him.  
d'Artagnan allowed one of the younger stable boys to take his horse, and smiled at the nervous looking youth before turning to follow Athos as he led them up the wooden stairs and into the captain's office.   
Treville sat behind the table as he always had, but he stood with a smile and gestured for Athos to take the spot before motioning to the tall man behind him, dressed in the blue cloak of a Musketeer.   
“This is Marius, our newest recruit. He rescued the Queen and one of her handmaids from an angry citizen a few months ago. The King granted him a commission immediately.”   
There was something in Treville's voice as he spoke that put d'Artagnan on edge immediately and he knew, even before he caught the captain's eye, exactly which handmaids had been involved but he followed his friends' example as they greeted the smiling man amiably, shaking his hand and smiling at him.  
“I have heard much of the Inseparables during my time at court.” Marius spoke pleasantly. “My darling Constance speaks fondly of you all and there is no higher praise in my eyes. I understand you have helped her out on a number of occasions; and the Queen as well, of course – they are both trouble makers, are they not?” He chuckled as he spoke and d'Artagnan found himself tensing at his casual affection and the look in the man's eye as he spoke of his wife. He did not realise that he had stepped towards him until he felt Porthos place a restraining hand on his shoulder.  
“Marius, perhaps you would go and inform the Queen that the Musketeers have returned? She asked to be notified immediately and she will appreciate it coming from you.” Treville suggested.   
There was something calculating in Treville's eyes as Marius passed them, his gaze lingering on Athos, and they remained silent until they heard his horse leave the yard.  
“He has been placed in the Musketeers by the new head of the Red Guards. The attack on the Queen was set up by the Marquis de Feron. He hired a few under fed boys desperate for money and neglected to inform them who they would be attacking; Marius was supposed to rescue them but it turned out the Queen's handmaid was more than capable of defending them both. Marius turned up at the end and put a bullet through one of the assailants and killing the second with his sword, claiming the victory. The Queen and Constance allowed him this because they did not think it was a good idea to advertise that a ladies' maid is so skilled with a sword. The Marquis thinks we are not aware of his part in the plot, but the idiot of a boy is more than half in love with your wife and told her everything while he was drunk one night.”  
“What was he doing with my wife at night when he was drunk?” d'Artagnan demanded, feeling his temper finally snap. This was not how his return to Paris was supposed to go. He wanted to see his wife; to touch her and kiss her and reassure himself that it wasn't all a dream – they really had married before he'd left for war and she was finally, completely, his. He wanted to be with Constance, not standing here discussing another man's apparent affection for her.   
“She visits often; helps out in the garrison with things. She's helped a few of the new boys with their reading and writing, and the Queen sends her for news of the war. She has been here helping cook and mending uniforms and it would be unwise to underestimate her influence on the Queen. She convinced her to provide for a large quantity of food and prepared a Christmas meal last week for us all, since most of us will have to be on guard in the Palace on Christmas Day. I won't lie to you; she has been a godsend on some days and Marius is not the only new Musketeer half in love with her; he is just the only one daring enough to try and do something about it.”  
“That doesn't explain why he was with her when he was drunk.” d'Artagnan snapped again. Treville sighed wearily, rubbing his forehead before facing him again.   
“She was leaving after dining with me one evening a month or so ago, and he stumbled into her and stopped her. I heard the story from Serge who said she was going to slap him before he started talking. He told her all about his high and powerful friends and what a good life he could provide for her because the newest member of the court of King Louis was in his debt. She listened and then she came and told me. She has been trying to stay away from him ever since but he is a favourite of the King and she cannot avoid him completely, especially at this time of year; you know how many balls the King insists on and how large a guard he requests – some of the younger boys are good but we sent the bulk of our strength to the boarders and we've had to make do with what we have, which includes Marius. When they meet, he stays as close as possible to her. She is uncomfortable with the attention, but she has learned some interesting information that we would not have known otherwise so I have not warned him away.”  
“He doesn't know she's married to a fellow Musketeer?” Aramis questioned, exchanging an angry look with Porthos. It was one thing to take another man's wife as a lover but only a man with no honour would knowingly set out to seduce the wife of a fellow soldier while he was at war.   
“The marriage is not widely known – only a few know about it and most of them were off fighting with you and the Queen, I have heard, has found the whole affair to be extremely entertaining. He asked around and was told the story of Monsieur Bonacieux being murdered in the palace, and I believe he thinks the ring on Constance's finger was put there by him. I admit I did not disabuse him of this notion as I was rather looking forward to seeing the look on his face when he saw your reunion.”   
There was a smirk on Treville's face and d'Artagnan felt himself slowly relax as the others laughed.  
“We will speak more of this later, and I will ask Constance to tell you everything she has learned from Marius but for now go and get cleaned up, boys. There is to be a pre-Christmas celebration in the palace this evening; I have no doubt the King and Queen will be requesting your presence any moment now and a war is no excuse for appearing in front of the court in the state you're in.”  
d'Artagnan followed Aramis and Porthos out, leaving Athos and Treville to discuss what would happen now to the camps set up around the boarders and the soldiers who remained there.   
“Don't look so worried, d'Artagnan. You know Constance adores you.” Aramis spoke softly as they set off across the yard again.   
“And I her.” He agreed. “But I do not like the idea of the Captain using Constance to spy on this man. If the Marquis de Feron is as dangerous as we believe, I do not want her getting involved. Last time she got involved with court politics, she almost lost her head – I won't allow that to happen again.”  
“I dare you to tell her that.” Porthos chuckled.   
“Do it while we're present, would you? I do need some amusement right now.” Aramis joked as he followed them. “And there is nothing as amusing as watching Constance shouting at someone else.” 

They were clean and dressed in new uniforms by the time the summons arrived. They followed Treville to the throne room, bowing low at the sight of their monarchs and nodding in thanks at the polite applause that greeted them. It was neither as sincere or as heart warming as the cheers had been in the garrison and d'Artagnan knew the people in this room had barely been touched by the war and would never fully appreciate what they had gone through as soldiers.   
“Well done, Musketeers.” Louis greeted them with a wide smile. “with all your hard work and dedication to your country, we certainly showed the Spanish that France is not a country to be trifled with, did we not?”  
“Indeed, your majesty.” Athos replied smoothly. “All the men who fought for France were brave and selfless; they all deserve such praise.”  
“Yes, yes.” Louis agreed mindlessly and d'Artagnan exchanged a disgusted look with Porthos; it wasn't up to them to question their King but it was grossly unfair that the common soldiers, who hadn't been invited to the palace, would receive nothing for their own hard work and dedication to their country.  
The King continued to speak, introducing the newest members of the court to the infamous Musketeers, including the new leader of the Red Guard who stared at the Musketeers coldly as they greeted one another.   
After the introductions, d'Artagnan blocked out as much of the chatter as he could. He looked around the room as subtly as possible, his breath hitching as he finally caught sight of her behind the Queen's throne. She wore a new dress, and there was some type of red flower twined through her hair. She was, without question, the most beautiful woman in the world and he would thank God every day that he had been allowed to return home to her.   
Marius was standing next to her, far too close to be proper, and he was leaning down to murmur something in her ear but the quick flash of possessive jealousy he felt vanished as he realised she wasn't paying any attention to the other man; she was too busy staring back at him with that beautifully wide smile on her face.   
He paid little attention to the rest of words spoken by the King or the Cardinal, and he barely heard the female soprano who was singing Christmas hymns for their enjoyment. He could hear his friends murmuring beside him but did not join in their conversations. He was greatly relieved when the Queen announced their departure.   
It took a while for the room to clear, as the King and Queen greeted people as they passed them, nodding at those who curtsied and bowed, and exchanging words with some of the more noble born.   
He watched as the Queen stopped by Constance and reached a hand out to her. He was too far away to hear the exchange but he could see the Queen gesture in his direction and saw Constance's smile widen as she nodded in agreement. He could also see Marius listening intently but it was clear the other Musketeer did not understand what the Queen was talking about by the frown on his face as he looked between the two women and where d'Artagnan stood beside his friends.   
Once the King and Queen had left, and their courtiers had followed, there was only d'Artagnan, the three Musketeers and Constance left along with the servants who would be clearing the room and Marius. He took a step towards her, suddenly nervous as she walked slowly towards him. It could not have taken more than 15 seconds for her to close the distance between them but if felt like an eternity as he waited.  
“You are the most beautiful sight I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.” He murmured as he stepped towards her. He ignored Marius' look of confusion and his friends good natured teasing behind him, and opened his arms just in time for Constance to throw herself into them. “Oh I have missed you.”   
She buried her face in his neck and he could feel the dampness of her tears as he blinked back his own. Her shoulders shook slightly and he tightened his grip on her, meeting the now cold eyes of the newest Musketeer. Marius no longer looked like the amiable, good natured man they had met that afternoon and d'Artagnan could not help his lips curving up in a smirk as he tightened his grip even further on his wife. He slid one hand into her curled hair and allowed the other to rest low on her hips; it would have been scandalous had they been in public but he could not bring himself to care as she pulled back slightly and met his gaze.  
“I am so happy that you're home.” Constance smiled through her tears, running her fingers through his hair and down his face, pausing at the scar on his jawline and shooting him a disapproving glare. “You look terrible.”  
“You should have seen us this afternoon.” Porthos quipped, catching her attention and smiling widely at her.   
“I am so happy that you're all home.” Constance murmured again, reaching a hand out towards them without moving from his arms.   
“We will give you and d'Artagnan this evening and catch up tomorrow, Madame.” Athos told them. “I am sure there is a lot of news to discuss.”  
“Thank you, Athos.” He muttered, before turning to Marius. “Monsieur Marius, I believe you know my wife?”   
The other man straightened himself, flashing a small and insincere smile even as he met his gaze with cold eyes. “Indeed. It has been my great pleasure to guard Madame Bonacieux while you were away from home, though I was not aware that you were wed.”  
“It's Madame d'Artagnan, actually.” d'Artagnan corrected with a smug smile. “And while I thank you for ensuring her safety, I am home now and your protection is no longer required.”  
He felt Constance tense and ran a soothing hand across the bare skin of her shoulders, stroking lightly until she relaxed again. He would pay for the protection comment, he had no doubt, but he wasn't going to allow Marius to see any discord between them, even if it was not serious.   
“Indeed.” Marius nodded. “And I will take my leave. Constance, I shall see you in the morning for the Queen's trip to La Rochelle?”  
“Oh. Perhaps.” Constance looked up at him suddenly before glancing back at Athos. “It will be up to the new Captain to assign Musketeers to the Queen's guard and I know she'll want to heard tales from the front line so it may be some time before we are reunited.”  
He looked as if he didn't know what to do with that news and d'Artagnan almost felt sorry for him then. He knew how it felt to be so enamoured with her that almost nothing else mattered but her love and approval and the unfortunate man in front them was never going to have either; it would be a bitter realisation for him.   
“Well, then I shall bid you all Merry Christmas and take my leave.”  
They watched in silence as he left the room and d'Artagnan laughed as he felt Constance deflate against him.  
“Thank God. If I had to listen to him talking about his 'friends in high places' one more time I was going to shoot him. No, I'm serious-” She protested as they laughed. “The Queen offered me a full pardon in advance. Athos, if you add him to the Queensguard, I will make your life miserable, see if I don't.”   
“I wouldn't dream of it, Madame. I don't think your husband would approve of your admirer having more access to you than he does.” Athos replied dryly as d'Artagnan glared at him.  
“Oh – you're not jealous, surely.” Constance laughed. “He's an idiot. And a-”  
“We know.” Aramis assured her with a knowing smile.  
“And he's working for-”  
“We know.”  
“And he's trying to-”  
“Yes, we know.”  
“Is there anything you don't know?” She was trying to sound cross but failed as she laughed and took d'Artagnan's arm. “Well, I believe you have been dismissed for this evening. Shall we go?”  
d'Artagnan grinned and nodded, allowing her to lead him away from his friends.   
Tomorrow would bring new troubles, he had no doubt, but tonight would be spent concentrating on nothing but his wife and their future.

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately I do not own any of the characters you recognise. 
> 
> This is a story also posted on ff.net, and I will add the other chapters which have been added there shortly but I wanted to add this one today in honour of Halloween!
> 
> Please let me know what you think.


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